


The Black Family Magic

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Romance, Self-Harm, Threesome, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-23
Updated: 2008-10-23
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: The Malfoy Family line is infamous for its Dark Magic.  But what about the Family Black?  Theirs is old, blood magic.  Will it be enough to bring back a beloved?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**A/N: Hey all, thought I'd post up some old stuff of mine here as well. This was an exchange piece that I wrote for an author on LJ. I ended up being a bit late, but I hope she will, in time forgive me. Enjoy!**

 

At 3:47 on a Tuesday morning, the majority of civilized Britain was asleep. It was a chilly morning and sensible people were nestled in a warm bed, preferably with a warm body curled up beside them.

Narcissa Malfoy was certainly a sensible woman, but she was definitely not in the majority of civilized Britain. 

And so she sat, wide awake, in a large squashy chair near a window overlooking the frontal grounds of Malfoy Manor. Her long, pale hair had been swept up into a neat—if plain—bun at the nape of her neck and her lime-colored silk pajamas made her naturally fair skin seem even paler than usual. Curled up on the armchair as she was, Narcissa looked oddly reminiscent of a child, but closer inspection would reveal tell-tale signs of her age. Faint worry lines were etched in the skin around her eyes and mouth, and there were black circles beginning to grow beneath pink-rimmed eyes.

Whoever said that a woman’s work is never done would have met their theory personified in Narcissa Black Malfoy. From a young age she had worked as a cohesive, playing the pacifist first between her two passionate sisters Andromeda and Bellatrix, then between Lucius and Severus—at school and afterwards, then later between her husband and her son, and finally between the Wizarding World and her family. She was many things and had worn many mantles in her life, but through it all she preferred the subtler methods.

Only twice in her entire life had Narcissa taken an aggressive role, and both of them revolved around Voldemort. 

Her blood began to boil at the very thought of him. Because of him her family had been ripped apart, thrown together at convenient moments, dragged through the social mud, and chipped into when he murdered in cold blood one of the three people on this earth that she really, truly loved.

It was because of this that she was still awake, keeping vigil in an empty house. Her eyelids began to droop and she sagged back against the chair. She barely registered the sound of rain hitting the sides of the Manor, but the soothing sound lulled her into a light doze.

The next thing she knew was the faint prickling sensation in the small of her back that meant the Master had passed the wards. Her eyes snapped open and she sprung from the chair, throwing a soft black dressing gown over her pajamas on her way down the hall. She raced down the stairs and opened the door just as a soggy and bedraggled figure stepped onto the threshold. She swung it wide and stepped out of the way, swallowing the gasp that rose to her throat as the body of Severus Snape floated in behind her husband.

“Did they put up a fuss?” she asked as she stepped up and helped Lucius remove the layers of soaking wet clothing from his shivering body.

Lucius scowled. “Bleeding bastards didn’t even know he was there. They had all the rest lined up and laid out, but no one spared him a thought! Not even the ever-righteous Potter could be bothered to pay suitable respects to the man who kept him alive all those years,” he spat, snatching up a towel from the house elves and began to dry his chilled body.

“You mean, they just left him there?” Narcissa gasped out as she took a thick navy robe from another elf and held it for Lucius as he slipped his arms in.

“They did, right there in the Shack and from the looks of it, he stayed where he fell.” Lucius’ voice was heated with fury, and his motions were jerky as he folded the robe around his front and tied it on his hip. He paused, taking a deep breath before turning to Narcissa with a softer gaze and a gentler voice. “Is everything ready?” When she nodded affirmation, he returned it with a warm smile, pulling her to him for a fierce embrace and a swift kiss.

It was Narcissa who pushed back gently and offered him a wan smile—he was one of few who was allowed to see her weariness, and even then he saw only a little. “Vous venez avec moi, Allumes,” she whispered softly in the language she had come to know better than her own, using the pet name she had for Lucius in private moments such as these. She grasped his hand and led him through the foyer and down the open walkway—the shroud-draped corpse floating along behind—and stopped before the door to Lucius’ private study. 

When the door swung open, Narcissa swept in and lit the candles with a flick of her wand, revealing the table, instruments and book that they would use tonight. Lucius settled the body on said table and dispelled his Levicorpus before stepping over next to his wife, who was skimming the instructions once more.

“First, we need to each cast a layer of non-corporeal Patronus over the body—for protection,” she explained with a glance up to Lucius, who nodded. His family might be known and renowned for their Dark Magic, but her family excelled in blood magic—which they would be using tonight. Contrary to popular belief, these were two very separate branches of magic, and one did not always mean the other, not by a long shot.

Narcissa closed her eyes and drew on the happiest memory she could muster. It had to be of the three of them for this to work, so she chose that day over the Christmas holidays, back when Voldemort’s name was only a mumble in the backdrop of political intrigue and there was no war. The three of them had opted to spend the holiday at the Manor, and on the day before Christmas it had snowed…

 

_Stepping outside the door had never felt so liberating. Narcissa turned and inclined her head just a little in farewell to her hostess—at nineteen she knew the ‘right sort’, and these people just barely met the mark. The day was crisp, but the winds were calm, and so she opted to walk the short distance back to the Manor. As she walked, the soon-to-be bride felt a weight lifting from her shoulders. The expression of chilled superiority fell, who out here would she need to impress or intimidate._

_As she half-walked half-slid down the side of a hill, she spotted Lucius and Severus sitting on a stone bench beneath a barren willow tree. Lucius was detailing excitedly his newest political scheme to Severus, who sat quietly listening. For a moment she regarded them, the way they sat just this side of too close, how Severus’ gaze never left Lucius’ face and how Lucius’ cold gray eyes sparkled with delight as he regaled his friend with ideas of intrigue. She watched them, and smiled. They had both been good friends for years, both to each other and to her. If she had to pick one man for her fiancé to love—and goodness knows it happened often enough in the old families—it would be Severus._

_Deciding to have her own bit of fun, Narcissa leaned down and scooped up two handfuls of snow, making a fist around each to pack it into a usable projectile. She then moved towards the two young men, snow muffling her footsteps, and took aim. Both snowballs hit their mark, and two very startled wizards had just been pelted between the shoulder blades._

_Their reactions were priceless. Severus wasn’t balanced well on his perch at the edge of the bench, and the impact sent him forwards, and he stayed there for a long moment, curled up in the snow. Lucius, on the other hand, leapt up and pulled out his wand. He was in mid-turn when Severus grabbed a fistful of his robe and yanked him down. This, of course, was so typical of their interaction that Narcissa couldn’t resist. She started to laugh, she laughed so hard her head fell back and she sat down in the snow. It didn’t take long for the two men to realize they’d been had._

_Severus took it all in stride, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath as he stood and brushed snow off of his robes. He almost managed to hide the smile on his face when he looked Cissa’s way and went back to his reading—tuning out the sound of the girl’s near-hysterical laughter. Lucius, however, did not take it so well. By the time she’d gotten herself under control—at least enough to speak—the tall blonde had managed to work himself into a truly spectacular pout._

_In the end, it took the combined efforts of Narcissa Black and Severus Snape to pull him out of his sulk and into a rather wonderful snowball fight. Turns out Lucius had never had one. Because of their uneven number, they called it a free-for-all once the rules had been explained. For a good two hours their laughter and friendly—by Slytherin standards—taunts could be heard through the vale. Finally, when all three of them were out of breath, they’d collapsed in a heap beneath that selfsame willow tree._

_She wasn’t sure just how long they laid there, silent but for the panting of breaths as they relaxed. With the ease of a lover who was friend first, Narcissa leaned up and to the left, capturing Lucius’ mouth in a particularly delicious kiss. When they parted, Cissa saw a flash of quickly-hidden longing on Severus’ face, and on impulse, she twisted around and kissed him too. Not only was he not a bad kisser, but the look on his face when she finally pulled away was simply…priceless._

 

That particular bit of daring had earned the three of them a very…heated afternoon, despite the snow. As Narcissa felt the warmth and security she’d felt for the first time that day bubble up inside her, she exhaled deeply, sending that joy in a path from her chest down her arm and out through her wand.

“Expecto Patronum!”

It took a certain sort of balance to cast an intentional non-corporeal patronus. One had to capture the joy of the moment, and then forget the moment itself. Sure enough, silver liquid shot from the tip of her wand and began to coat Severus’ prone body. A stolen glance at Lucius told her he was doing the same. 

No need to ask what his memory was. Narcissa smirked at the thought.

When the silvery light from Lucius’ wand layered over top of Narcissa’s and conformed to the shape of Severus, there was a moment of light so bright Narcissa had to shield her eyes. When she looked up again, the body was no longer blatantly silver, but it was still there, under the surface. 

“Good, right, now here comes the fun part,” Narcissa quipped dryly. She picked up a small dagger and handed Lucius one almost identical. “We have to be touching at the wrist, and from there swipe the knife across the other’s skin to draw the blood and then press the wounds together.”

Lucius’ eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. He looked as if he wanted to question the sanity of doing so, then seemed to realize that their whole endeavor bordered precariously on insane and thought better of it. Narcissa understood his hesitance, and as she leaned over to pick up the knives, she explained.

“This is old magic, and it will be hard to keep our wrists together, because the blood will mingle—and knowing us the ebb and flow will be on totally conflicting rhythms. We must hold on and keep it together, long enough for our heartbeats to synchronize.” She handed one knife to her husband and kept one for herself. “The basis of this magic is rhythm and blood,” she began, lifting her arm and gripping the knife just so, careful not to nick Lucius as he placed his wrist to hers. “We’ve got to coax his heart back into beating, and it’s going to take both of us to do it. You know how much of a stubborn bastard he is,” she added, though the insult sounded more like an endearment. “Just a small incision, median depth. Cross arms, cut—“ She hissed in pain as Lucius made an incision over the biggest vein on the underside of her wrist, and she quickly did the same to him. “Now, brace your free hand on the edge of the table, and press together.”

As their wounds met, a purple spark snapped between them, sending a shock up their arms. Suddenly, pain like she’d never experienced lanced through her arm and chest then ebbed a bit, only to come back in force. Her body screamed for her to let go, to back away, because each time her pulse crashed with Lucius’ her vision would go momentarily black. Narcissa Malfoy was used to pain, but this was pain and pressure.

Eventually the rhythms began to synchronize themselves, but for a long while the beat was erratic, so that when the rhythms finally clicked, it was a shock to both of them. For long moments they stood there, trembling. Lucius regained his strength first and stepped forward to wrap his free arm around Narcissa’s shaking body. Their wrists were still pressed together—albeit at an awkward angle—to maintain the connection, and their joined heartbeats were a comfort to Narcissa. It was the closest she’d ever felt to Lucius, and that was saying a lot. It would be so nice to stay like this forever, just drift off to sleep and let…

Narcissa shook herself and pulled back from Lucius, using her free hand to shake his shoulder gently. “Come on, Allumes, we can’t sleep yet. Wake up, love. We’ve work to do.” He made a soft noise and pressed his face into her neck, but didn’t move. “Lucius!” she shouted in his ear, and he shot straight up, staring at her with a wide-eyed expression. Narcissa didn’t fight the half-smirk that twisted her mouth. She regarded him with an arched brow for a moment until she was sure he wasn’t going to drift off again, and then turned back to her book, once again all business. 

“Now, we need to each take the knife we used to open the other and make an incision in the same place on each of his wrists,” she summed up as she read. Glancing up at Lucius’ face, Narcissa almost laughed aloud. 

“You know, for someone with such a reputation, you are awfully squeamish,” she teased, but smiled. “Don’t worry, there is no heartbeat to force out the blood, he will not bleed when we open him.” She then lifted the knife and gestured for him to do the same. Careful to maintain the connection that stabilized their heartbeats, Narcissa led him around so that they stood on opposite sides of Severus’ lifeless body. She made a quick and skillful incision on his upturned wrist, and then waited for Lucius to do the same on his side. “Now, we must separate and join our blood to his. On my count; One, Two, Three!”

With a grunt, they pulled their wrists apart and pressed them to the incisions on Severus’ wrists. Lucius’ face drained of all color, and Narcissa staggered. It felt as if her very life was being drained from her body. She steadied herself, and as she watched, Severus’ pallor lifted, and a flush rose to skin described as sallow even in life. It was an odd thing to see. Once the room stopped spinning, and Lucius had caught his breath, he turned to Narcissa. 

“What now?”

Still panting, Narcissa drew her wand from a pocket in her robes and lifted it towards Lucius. “Now we have to shock his body into action.”

“We have to what?” Lucius stared at her blankly.

“We have to send signals to his nerves—enough to make them work again.” Realization dawned on Lucius’ face, and he openly gaped at his wife. The only spell with that much power was a combined Cruciatus. “Will we—?”

“Yes,” Narcissa affirms. “We are connected to him. We will feel it.” She set her jaw and nodded to her husband, who shuddered once before setting himself steady. “Whatever you do, you must not stop until he begins to cough. Do you understand? You. Must. Not. Stop.”

Lucius nodded once and drew his own wand. They both aimed at Severus’ chest, and paused. Lucius glanced over to Narcissa, who offered a small smile before nodding. 

“Crucio!”

They called it out together, and instantly Narcissa felt as if her entire body was on fire. She screamed, only barely registering her husband’s yell beside of her. The pain was just as bad as if she’d been cursed herself, but it was a deeper pain, and one she could and would conquer. She was a Black, damn it. The Black family women knew no master—not pain, not men, not time. They had conquered those and she would conquer this.

After what felt like forever, she heard a series of gut-wrenching coughs and saw Severus’ body convulse with them. With a sigh of relief, she let her wand slip through her fingers. The pain suddenly disappeared, and she slipped into blessed blackness. 

The next thing she knew was that her head was cradled in someone’s lap, and there were gentle fingers running through her hair. She opened her eyes and groaned as she tried to shift her weight. Arms helped her sit up and she turned and saw that it was Lucius who held her. With his help, she managed to stand, and was leaning heavily on him while she waited for her vision to focus. Lucius waved his wand and the light in the room went up. Lying there on the table, Severus Snape breathed in and out, chest rising and falling in rhythm. 

“We did it,” she breathed, and took a few shaky steps towards the sleeping man. She reached up with shaking fingers and laid a hand on his arm. The instant she touched him, his eyes snapped open, and Narcissa looked up into them. Her screams echoed throughout the Manor. 

His eyes were empty.


End file.
